


(Five) Seconds of Ariadne

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Arthur:</strong> Eames, seriously...<br/><strong>Eames:</strong> Did you bang her?<br/><strong>Arthur:</strong> No.<br/><strong>Eames:</strong> What, hum job? Hand job?<br/><strong>Arthur:</strong> Man, no. No jobs. I'm still unemployed. We - we kissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Five) Seconds of Ariadne

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC17/M for some seriously bad language, sexual contact and drunken behaviour (Oh Eames, _why?_ )  
> Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur + Eames  
> Notes/Warnings: For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html?thread=30254427#t30616411) prompt at[](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/profile)[ **inception_kink**](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/) : **  
> Arthur:** Eames, seriously...  
>  **Eames:** Did you bang her?  
>  **Arthur:** No.  
>  **Eames:** What, hum job? Hand job?  
>  **Arthur:** Man, no. No jobs. I'm still unemployed. We - we kissed.
> 
> The characters, setting and story of _Inception_ are the property of Christopher Nolan; the dialogue from _(500) Days of Summer_ is the property of Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber and no cash is being made from this story.

~*~

Arthur picked up the bottle of whisky and squinted at it painfully. He was pretty sure it had been fuller than that a minute ago, but then he wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been sitting in his hotel bar getting well and truly shit faced, so perhaps it was an hour ago? A couple? He propped his head on his hand lazily and poured himself another measure, then calmly raised his glass to the bright lights and happy people around him and muttered. "Here's to you, Robert Fischer. The first man in the world to be successfully incepted. The first man in the world to bring five of the best in mind crime together and get them to work together without fighting like cats in a bag. And most of all for being the man who let me meet Ariadne. _Slàinte_." The glass hit his teeth as he tossed back the liquor, swallowing against the bitter burn as it shot down his throat, then groping for the bottle once more. "At least one of us is happy now."

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided the best course of action, having just pulled off what even the most reserved in their elite and tiny fraternity would call the crime of the century, was to get utterly plastered by himself. Doubtless anyone else would imagine that post job he'd be happily moving money to one of his offshore accounts ( _done_ ), writing his field journal (who was he, Montgomery?) or organising his wardrobe by shade, pants cut or something equally fucking stupid that he'd never do in a million years. Well dressed was one thing, being anally retentive about it was another. Hell, sometimes he even wore odd socks...Or perhaps they imagined he'd be upstairs, screwing the aforementioned beautiful, annoying and brilliant Ariadne into his mattress while she rendered him incapable of physical activity for the next fortnight.

But no. Oh no, he'd got off the plane, strode through immigration and collected his luggage with only one fleeting glance at the small brunette he'd spent the last two months fixated on. Got in a cab, checked into their hotel, unpacked, then thought "Fuck it." And decided that a drink was precisely what he needed to blank out his own utter lack of backbone when it came to her. So right now he was downstairs, rapidly approaching alcoholic oblivion and she was upstairs, alone, in her room, maybe sitting on the bed, maybe taking a shower and soaping all that wonderful skin, wandering around in a robe, lying down and thinking that what she really needed to do to relax right now was to touch her...

Arthur slammed that mental door shut firmly. That way lay turning up at her door at midnight, drunk and incomprehensible while she looked at him like he'd crawled out from under the nearest rock or something equally _Ariadne is utterly pissed off_. Folded arms, maybe, or a tapping foot. "God, I bet she has pretty feet." He mumbled at the whisky bottle, which tactfully stayed silent.  
Sadly the peace was short lived. From behind him he heard a cheerful English voice call "Arthur!" and he resisted the urge to bang his head on the bar until he blacked out. Unfortunately he wasn't quick enough and he felt a large hand descend on his shoulder just as he was eyeing up the black marble and calculating how many blows it would take.

"...And if you look to your left, ladies and gentleman, you'll be granted the unique sight of the saddest point man in the universe drowning his sorrows."

"Fuck off." Arthur said to his newest, closest friend, Mr. Glen Livet. Eames hoved into view somewhere behind the bottle. his face in it's usual, eminently slappable, smirk. "My, my, so tetchy." He feigned offence and tapped the bar discretely. "What's up, Arthur? Saville Row burn down?" He snagged the whisky and poured himself a generous measure into the glass that had materialised in front of him.  
"Did I not just say..." Arthur spaced each word out evenly,trying to make the promise of death drip from every letter.

"I have selective deafness, did I never tell you that?" The smirk widened into a grin as he took a healthy sip of his drink. "Anyway, what's up, misery guts? Why aren't you upstairs using up your lifetime supply of up and down with the gorgeous Ariadne? Don't tell me she found out what a bore you are already?" Eames' eyes twinkled with glee. "Or did you do something else that _might have screwed things up forever and ever_?" His voice dropped into a tone of sepulchral doom.

Arthur sat up straight and tried to glare at the Eames' wavering slightly in front of him. "I did not screw it up!" He hissed, "Alright? I did not!" They both raised their eyebrows and signalled the bartender again.  
"Black coffee please, my angel. Strong as you can." He heard him smile sweetly to the redhead, who giggled and rushed off as he turned back to Arthur. "Then you're down here, getting rat arsed because...?"  
"I wanted to."  
"Jesus Christ, Arthur! You're a crap liar when you're not pissed, let alone when you are."  
"Eames, seriously..." He groaned, covering his eyes with one hand

Eames changed tack, his voice dropping down to a more confidential tone, "Did you bang her in the hotel dream, Arthur? Is that what you did?"  
"No!" Arthur jerked upright as he half yelled, almost making the redhead drop his coffee in front of him. "Sorry, thank you." He said more quietly,  sniffed the cup, screwed up his face and took a healthy swig.  
"What, hum job?" Eames tried again, his face hopeful, "Hand job? Come on, Arthur. All alone with the bird who sends all the blood in your body to one place and you didn't try anything?"

"No, Eames, no. No _jobs_ ," He stared mournfully into the depths of his cup, thinking he must be desperate if he's confiding in _Eames_ of all people; "I'm still unemployed. We...we just kissed."

Oh god, they had kissed. Five seconds, give or take a bit, of sheer, unadulterated Ariadne based bliss. And what had he done? "Oh, yeah sorry girl, I was just, you know, trying to save my own ass. Let's go and blow some shit up, 'mkay?"  Mind you, it was that or Eames' first guess would have been correct and the only thing in Fischer's head right now would resemble some kind of pornography involving neat little grey suits, uncomfortable leather sofas and the words "Oh fuck _yes_ , Ariadne!" being screamed in a hotel lobby.

Eames' look was fifty percent pity, fifty percent incredulity. "You _what_? Level with me, old man. As your colleague, as even perhaps your close acquaintance, who has put up with you gazing at this woman for the last month and a half like a puppy that's had it's nose smacked with a rolled up newspaper; who has watched you refuse to let anyone but you teach her anything, stick the god damned lead in her arm, or even stand near her; who has seen you smile at her like she can walk on water, sniff the air when she walks past your desk to catch a trace of her perfume and leave the room on three legs when she shakes her hair back...I mean, less kind people would say you were practically stalking her by the end, with your neat little file on her and offering to walk her home every day, not to mention wanking in the bathroom every half hour the day she forgot to wear a bra."

"Eames!" Arthur snapped. "I was not masturbating over the thought of Ariadne's chest every half hour!"  
"Oh, pardon me, how could I have been so unobservant: _Every fifteen minutes_." Eames poured himself another shot.  
"I'm a professional and I behaved in a professional manner _at all times_." Arthur felt his coffee slop into the saucer as he grabbed at the cup.   
"And which particular Habit of Highly Effective Peoplecovers "getting lashed up because the colleague you fancy the lacy knickers off, but whom you also think you might just have ruined your chances with, is upstairs and getting legless is easier than knocking on her door and saying: 'Pardon me, Ariadne, but do you mind if we have a lot of sex, because I am as besotted with you as you are with me and everyone else, including Cobb, has noticed and is just wishing we'd hurry up and set a new land speed record between the door and your bed?"" Just for my own reference, you understand."

"Cobb noticed?" Arthur felt his jaw drop slightly.  
"Yes. And you know how hard it is to get his attention; I mean you practically had to walk up behind him and say "Ooo, is that Mal I just saw walk past?" then run before he headbutted you."  
"That wasn't your finest hour."  
"It worked though, didn't it? Well, aside from the black eye." Eames muttered wryly into his glass.  
"Sorry," Arthur shook his head to clear the whisky fug,  " ** _Cobb_** noticed? And he spoke to you?"  
"We do talk, Arthur. And yes, he did mention it in passing."  
"In passing?"  
"Well, he took me to one side and said, basically, "Is Arthur sleeping with Ariadne?,"" Eames started slowly,  
"What the..." Arthur felt his jaw start to drop again: Cobb had thought that?  
"And I said no, he's not,..." The forger continued.  
"Thank you." The relief was palpable.  
"...he's just stalking her." Eames finished with a cheerful grin.  
"Eames! I am going to fucking kill..."  Arthur tried to rise from his seat in preparation for choking the life out of Eames and his smug fucking face when a beautiful and familiar voice interrupted them.

"Hey guys." Arthur turned suddenly, trying not to simultaneously fall out of his chair and smile at Ariadne at the same time. ( _God, she's lovely. Look at that face. Look at that hair. Look at those beautiful fingers. God, I want to kiss her. God I want to lick her all over. God, I..._ )  
"Ariadne. Hello." He attempted to smooth down his ruffled exterior as he drank her in. Better than whisky any day.  
"Ah, Ariadne!" Eames saluted with his glass, "Feeling better? Come to join us for a drink? Arthur's buying." The point man shot him a foul look that must have fallen a few inches short, since Eames ignored him spectacularly well.

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some food?" She looked pointedly at Arthur ( _God, her eyes look like caramel. God, her lashes are so long. God, that mouth is so soft and warm and damned kissable I want to glue myself to it for the next ten years_ ) but instead got a reply from Eames. "No thank you. I've got to...umm...I've got a lot of things to do. Besides, I like to stick to liquids for at least twenty four hours after." He helped himself to more whisky. "Why don't you take Arthur out though, show him a good time? Heaven knows he needs one." Arthur glowered again, but Eames simply raised his eyebrows and made a face that plainly said _stop being such a dingbat!_

"Arthur?" Ariadne asked again, a faintly worried note in her voice as she fidgeted on the spot.  
"Yes! Yes, I'd love to."  
"Come on then." She held out her hand and let him take it ( _touching her, touching her, touching her!_ ) as he clambered down from his bar stool with as much dignity as he could muster. "I'm in the mood for fries and a cheeseburger," she said confidentially, "and a vanilla malt. Going to Limbo has left me starving and the fruit bowl in my room wasn't enough." Her grin was delightfully wicked and wonderfully intimate. 

He'd all but forgotten about Eames as she started to lead him away, in fact he was so wrapped up in holding onto Ariadne that he'd have been hard pushed to remember who the man was, when he heard him clear his throat and call out. "Oh, Arthur?" He swung round sharply to find the forger leering in his filthiest manner, "If any _jobs_ do come up...?"  
"Thank you, Mr. Eames." He replied curtly. Damn man, if he wasn't careful he'd catch him outside Ariadne's door with a glass pressed up to it, taking notes. "Sorry," he said quietly to Ariadne, who was looking at him with the faintest hint of puzzlement, "we've...worked together before. He was asking me if I'd heard anything on the grapevine. About work. You didn't..."Arthur hesitated slightly, "you didn't over hear any of our conversation, did you? It was just a little, umm, sensitive." Ariadne shook her head.

"No, but I see." She smiled cheerfully, her expression clearing, "come on then, I'm stalking." Arthur started. _Did she just say...?_ "I mean starving," she corrected herself hurriedly, her expression even more determinedly smiley, "I'm starving. Aren't you?"

  
~*~

  
Arthur woke up to feel a small, warm form with very cold feet curled over him. It smelt of vanilla and citrus, and was so soft it made him want to cuddle it. He risked opening his eyes, the after effect of the whisky by now playing a solo in headache minor on his skull, to find he had a face full of dark, wavy hair and was hanging onto a distinctly asleep female shape which was about an inch from elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

"Ariadne?" He risked. He fumbled around his memory,  remembered her coming back to his room after a massive junk food meal, drinking some more with him, laughing at a supremely bad story about Cobb trying to control Phillipa in Toys R Us after she tried to clear the Lego aisle in a fury of delighted trolley rage, then he'd dropped lazily onto the bed, she sat next to him and... _Oh god, did he fall asleep on her?_

"Mmm hmm?" The cloud of hair mumbled, "Is there coffee?" The body stirred, limbs rowing over him in a flutter of skin on skin, the locks flipping back to reveal her sleep creased face hovering over his. "I won't get up until there's coffee." She insisted, sliding upwards fractionally, hesitating then risking a soft kiss on his unresisting mouth. He let her carry on, floating off into thin air as she lapped his mouth open, heedless of his whisky and morning breath, and proceeded to count his teeth with the tip of her tongue while he tried to do the same, clutching her as close as he could and realising: "We're naked." He blurted suddenly, letting go of her lips.

"Yes. You wanted to get undressed and refused to go to sleep unless I did too. And I didn't mind." She drew a fingertip over the line of his collar bone and grinned. "You're nice and warm, after all."  
"We didn't..." he trailed off, " _do anything_ , did we?" _Not while I was half gone and stupid, please don't let me have.  
_ "No," Ariadne lowered her lashes, "I wouldn't take advantage of you like that. Although you were pretty pliable." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.  
"So we didn't...?"  
"No."  
"Not anything?"  
"No." She said emphatically.

"Would you like to?" He risked. Hell, Ariadne was in his bed, lying on top of him, naked. It could be a dream, but if it was he wasn't going to screw it up like last time. Her answering smile was almost as dirty as one of Eames'.  
"I slept here, stark naked. Take an educated guess." She replied, propping her chin in her hands and swinging her bent legs back and forth. Arthur could see the swell of her chest pressing into his, feel the firm press of her body onto his and the tantalising warmth of one particular part of her resting on his stomach. Oh man, it looked like he'd passed the interview after all and was about to be the sole employee of Ariadne, Inc. Which reminded him...

"Wonderful." He kissed her again, harder this time, paying particular attention to rolling her gently onto the mattress. "I just have to do one thing first. Stay there and hold that thought." He ripped back the quilt, crossed the room while dragging on the robe he must have thrown onto his bedside chair at some point and yanked open the door. As he did so another human form encountered his as it rolled forwards, this one distinctly less welcome.

"Eames, what the fuck are you doing?" He said tiredly as the forger blinked up at him blearily from the floor. "Why the hell are you outside my door? Did you sleep out here?"   
"Arthur," Eames rallied, "good morning! And good morning to you too, Ariadne." He called, then clutched his head gently. "Oww. I was just making sure you got home safely, that's all. I take it you're now _gainfully employed_?" He dropped some air quotes and Arthur felt his expression harden into one that might have turned a lesser man to stone. "Eames, get off the floor and go and sleep in your own bed. You look like a hobo."  
"Come on, Arthur, enquiring minds want to know." He pleaded, rising to his feet with a click of joints and a few half hearted groans of discomfort. "What was it? Hum job? Hand..."  
"No Eames, for the final time, _no_. Now fuck off and stop listening at doors like an old woman." Arthur moved to shut the door then added in his most menacing tone, "and if you're still here in five minutes I'm going to kick you into next month, understand?" 

"Are you going to bang her?" He heard him ask hopefully as he slammed the door in Eames' face, mercifully muffling his words. "Arthur, come on! A yes or no will do! Arthur? Arthur! Bastard..."

"What was Eames doing out there?" Ariadne asked from the bed, where she was now lying on her front, on top of the sheets and eyeing Arthur hungrily as he stripped off his robe.  
"Nothing." He replied, sauntering back towards the bed and lying down next to her, gathering her up and taking advantage of this proper opportunity to savour her with his hands as she did the same. "Nothing at all. But we might need to be very quiet for the next ten minutes or so." She grinned so widely it made his stomach dissolve into butterflies.

"In that case, we'd better find something to do with our mouths, don't you think?" 

Oh, yes; he was definitely going to enjoy working here.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  A/N's-  
>  _Slàinte_ ( IPA: /slaːnʧə/, pronounced sl **a** n- **ch** e) is a Gaelic toast meaning _health_. It's very appropriate for drinking whiskey.   
> 
> 
> The line about _"screwing things up forever and ever_." is from Eddie Izzard's _Glorious_.   
>  In the UK _pissed_ and _rat arsed_ are both synonyms for being very, very drunk.
> 
>  _The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People_ is by Steven R. Covey, not me, and it doesn't cover hopeless work place crushes (shame, eh?) On that note I do not own Glenlivet, Lego or Toys R Us either. But I am very poor, so suing me is pointless, particularly when I'm not making anything from this. _  
> _


End file.
